


Elder Scrolls: The Trial and Exile of Countess Erzsebet

by Dementia5



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Dawnguard, F/F, Historical Fantasy, Multi, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dementia5/pseuds/Dementia5
Summary: This is a story about a former countess noblewoman exiled from the northern region of Tamriel, a land that governs the setting for most of the lore contained inThe Elder Scrolls, a property owned by Bethesda. The creation of this character was inspired by several historical accounts of Elizabeth Bathory, the "Blood Matron of Hungary" accused of torturing and killing hundreds of young women during the turn of the 17th century.The characters and setting do not belong to the author. Knowledge of the Elder Scrolls lore is not essential, but will prove helpful in keeping track of names and environs. This can be considered a mature story, not suitable for work. Feedback is welcome.
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _"Before placing a single word on the page, before the quill can be injected with whatever qualifies as black ink, the scope of the endeavor must be understood and only afterwards can the breadth of the deed be realized." - Unknown Bard from Reich Gradkeep_

“Unhand me, I say! I am a Countess! A noble of superior breeding, not some lowborn _nebarra_ to be apprehended and brought here on some meritless charge. Did you hear? Get your hands off of me! I do _not_ recognize this court authority, _my_ authority prevails here!” Erzsêbet Escedtől was forcibly escorted through the courthouse all the while ignoring her defamers. Turning towards her they shook their fists as she proceeded down the aisle, leading eventually to a worn and uncushioned seat. Tempted as she was, she resisted conjuring a spell of summoning while at the same time resisting the constable's arresting efforts.  
  
“This is not a court of public opinion,” replied one of the three Breton judges on the platform, from an elevated and ornate bench. “This is a court of reason, founded on principles enforced by the Daggerfall Covenant in alignment with scriptures from Stendarr and the Nine Commands of the Eight Divines.” The judge speaking adjusted the sleeves of his robe. Pushing his spectacles up the plane of his nose he continued, “you see that crest?” He was pointing to the banner of Wayrest draped behind his seat and those of his fellow magistrates. “It will remain here _long_ after you and I are finished here today, and the rest of our time on Nirn." He drew a breath. "Of course, you are free to discuss these proceedings with the Divine Lorkhan, should your spirit share his company, but first we will commence with this process. One that has served every Breton in this court for centuries, and without outburst. Now be seated.” At this, two separate court guards with halberds stepped forward insisting she take her seat once and for all.  
  
With poise and a dismissive gesture, she does. She straightened her corset not bothering to adjust the neckline of her bodice; such ploys will not work in this forum. She was still considered a young, attractive woman, one with an uncanny obsession in preserving every measure of her ageless, porcelain skin. She took great pride in accentuating the impossible: her lithe and fluid motions, her supple curves and the fixedness of her bosom such that they belied the truth of her nubile beauty. She submitted that she had the grace and poise of a lady half her age. A truly cosmetic skill, an envious one for many, but one to which she gave an almost Daedric reverence, nourishing her position for most of her adult life.  
  
The Countess blotted her forehead. She was not accustomed to this type of exertion, knowing only the creature comforts of her position afforded to her by members of her Royal Court. She has never had to resort to any true physical labor, "too many rings to take off" she would muse. Pandering to the needs of the many was something delegated to others. She began to long for the custody of her Regent and the personal care takings provided by her handmaiden, Chaneliene. Who will tend to the Syrah vineyards during her absence? Should she even return? Would she?  
  
For now she must focus. Her single minded mission was one of aristocracy, engaging the commoners and keeping up appearances. She was most formidable with the last. Erzsêbet took ownership of virtually every regal quality associated with her position; today will be no different.  
  
The Breton judge was correct, however: this tribunal has withstood the passages of time practically unchanged throughout the Second Era. Erzsêbet took some comfort in the fact that if found innocent her accusers would face stringent penalties for introducing any false charges. This would lead to public condemnation of the _Order of the Lamp_ , and most certainly the hanging of their head knight. The Mage's Guild, being of recent birth, is no doubt looking to perch upon the shoulders of political influence and spread its wings in an effort to roost outside the Wayrest region. Their latest affront being her arraignment, such a preposterous decision! At the very least this will provide a disincentive to other accusers in her wake. Their allegations would never stand and the poorly conceived cultivation of their knightly order will be the least of their problems.  
  
Not unless the accusations were widely received. So far in this narrative of her life, they have been.  
  
She took a moment to gather the surrounding court. The smoothly polished wooden walls, the tin paneled ceiling and the bleachers filled with spectators on either side of the raised platform that supported the triumvirate of inquisitors. These surfaces provided the right conditions for an astounding reverberation within the hall. The sound was clamorous. Even when order was sustained by the second judge, there persisted a drone of rumblings, having an almost dizzying effect on the Countess. Representing the regions of Glenumbra, Wayrest, Shornhelm, Rivenspire, Greymoor and others included in the recent alliance were unfurled banners of the Blue Lion, suspended behind the judge's platform. Other fabrics draped the crowning of the courtroom. There were a number of Daedric design inspired windows of untinted glass, allowing true daylight to illuminate the chamber. Suspended from the ceiling and along the walls were chandeliers and sconces bearing unlit torches. The audience consisted of the plebian folk of Wayrest, all dressed in drab greys and tans. Most were unkempt, although their was also the presence of the unspeckled upper-class. They occupied the front seating closest to her, some of whom she in fact recognized. She noticed Captain Etienne, sitting nonchalantly at the rear of the courthouse wearing armor of silver, gold, and red. No doubt members of the _Order_ notified the Wayrest City Guard of her involvement with the Montalion Clan.  
  
Was all this another, _yet_ another maneuver on the part of Galerion? Assuming the role of Guildmaster, whose position has been regarded as the academic focus of the region, alongside additional arcane circulars demanded of him, could this be a political effort to use fear and distrust to create an inside enemy of the state? A pity the Guild had not been given to the furthering of necromancy and its benefits. Such posturing served to eject Lady Ulliceta from the Guild, who was forced to join the _Psijics_ to continue her work. It probably doesn't help, she surmised, that Ulliceta is one of Erzsêbet's oldest acquaintances, sharing a common fascination with all things dead.  
  
The second judge brought down a wooden gavel. It had a thunderous crash that resonated the chamber in spite of the luxurious trappings and velvet curtain folds to absorb the sound. He began the proceedings with an opening statement.  
  
The Secretary General of the Wayrest Court, who was also a Breton, read from a scroll for all to hear: "on this day, Tirdas, le 8 de Primetoile, under the 575th year of the Second Era of the collective Eight Divines," the Breton said in a pitchy and slightly squeaky voice without cadence, "and in partial fulfillment of our humble offerings to Akatosh and in servitude to the Breton people of High Rock, we gather to determine the innocence of Countess Erzsêbet, for committing heinous crimes against the people of Daggerfall. We will now hear the accusations." He paused and looked to his right at the third magistrate and dismissed himself.  
  
He produced a parchment that based on the number of sigils and other markings had been handled by several official hands. He read the charges aloud. "The accused will be found guilty of abduction, mass slaughter, sadistic torture, offering comfort and abetting the undead, heresy and treason unless these charges are found to be bereft of merit in accordance with the laws of High Rock. How does the accused plead?"  
  
At this Erzsêbet stood, saying with confidence, "I am innocent."


	2. Chapter 2

There was a hush throughout the hall as Erzsêbet entered her plea to the court. She has prepared for moments like these, in the face of social adversity and to some extent mockery as a child. She always came equipped and well anointed. This was partially due to her gentility and the nobleness of her upbringing. To her this always promised passage and a means of "burrowing" through the bureaucracy of affairs like this one.  
  
It was no secret, at least to the Countess, how this tribunal uses the threat of torture to terrorize the accused. Their manifest was written during a period when judicial procedure was cruel by design. This type of handiwork predates the Daggerfall Covenant, but even today their pronouncement of culpability of the accused would commence as an elaborate display of power held by the courts of High Rock.  
  
The tribunal of inquisitors were unaffected by her plea, save for the second judge who grimaced. “There were a number of witnesses on the eve of several of these charges. They are here today to testify against your claim of innocence. We will now hear from them.” He motioned to the Captain, the one noticed by Erzsêbet as she entered the court. With an officious gate he motioned with a salute and stood in front of the panel of magistrates.  
  
“Towards the first and primary charges of mass slaughter and sadistic torture the court calls upon the captain of the Wayrest guard. Please state your name and tell the court of your account,” said the second judge.  
  
“Captain Mathias Etienne, captain of the Wayrest City Guard and personal bodyguard to High King Emeric. I am prepared to offer a full report of events that brings the tribunal and the annexed Countess here today to this courtroom.”  
  
The second judge interceded, “you may address the defendant as the accused. The court is aware of her position in High Rock.”  
  
“Is this so?” interrupted Erzsêbet. “I would appreciate a moment,” stifling a moment of bitterness with a swallow, “for the court to dwell for just a moment upon my deeds and attainments, for they have served so many, including those present in this chamber. It would serve as a testament to my royal heritage, and all that we have provided, permitting the Wayrest region to prosper the way it has-”  
  
“You will have ample opportunity to state such claims after the witnesses have offered their own personal testimonies,” replied the second magistrate. Looking to the prosecuting witness, the judge returned, “proceed, Captain.”  
  
Etienne was stifled for a moment. “Forgive me. For the sake of my own animus I need to come to terms with what I am about to produce to the court. I ask that you grant me a prayerful moment so that I can privately utter what must be said through prayer, under the terms set by my own Divine.” The three magistrates shared glances with one another. A bit unorthodox, but being a tolerant panel they nodded and with a light movement granted this motion. The captain steadied himself and gestured with a sign to Mara the Divine.  
  
“On the date in question we uncovered several atrocities at the estate of the Countess. Several imprisoned young women, who at the very least were malnourished. There were still others caged, bleeding, some with missing limbs and flayed flesh from their faces,” began the captain who was now visibly shaken. “There was also evidence of victims who were apparently gouged and beaten, their eyes missing from their sockets and widespread bloodletting which had occurred upon those who were found caged. Adjacent to most of these poor prisoners were devices that can only be surmised as instruments of torture.” Etienne took a deep breath. “Such instruments included hot pokers, buckets filled with blood, stored body parts and devices used for severe beatings. These devices were used recently I would add. They were caked with blood and… other matter. The victims suffered mutilation of the hands and feet. There were seven cadavers lain about the chamber. We also recovered several jars of honey used to attract flesh eating critters-”  
  
“Enough! You cannot accept this as anything other than hearsay! Can one explain how such a summation -” interjected the countess, but just as abruptly the third judge stood up and retorted after slamming his gavel, “Silent! You will be silent!”  
  
Etienne paused a moment waiting for the echo of impact to disperse throughout the hall. “Upon further examination conducted at the estate of the accused, there was the uncovering of several skeletons and further cadaver parts. These have already been produced as evidence.“ The captain was still visibly uncomfortable and taking the opportunity to gather his words uttered, “there was something else salvaged. That of a large basin, a bathtub really, containing evidence of having been filled with blood. It was empty at the time of its recovery but the stain was remarkable.”  
  
Suddenly the darkness of the creeping afternoon through the windows of the courtroom into twilight was deepening. Shadows seemed to provide a greater contrast and gave the impression of enveloping the entire room. The timbre and mood of the court at this point was beyond indignation. There was a sort of turpitude being bred as a result of this unspeakable yet somehow spoken account. Some of the attendees were sobbing, but most carried an expression of horror or shock, hoping the testimony would end there.  
  
Captain Etienne was not finished, however. “Upon further investigation of the premises we discovered in the library, or rather the mage study of the estate a number of papyrus sheets of queer design. To my eye, an untrained one in the art of the arcane, they appeared to be glyphs used to forward the practice of abjuration or summoning. But I could not be certain if it was necromantic by nature.” He looked skyward for a moment, and fidgeted with his worn rings. “Therefore, we had them sent to one of the sorcerers at the Mages Guild under the tutelage of Vanus Galerion, formerly as Trechtus.”  
  
The first judge looked a bit baffled. Removing his spectacles he pressed the captain, “just a moment. Vanus Galerion is an Altmer of the Psijic Order.” At this the third judge intervened stating, “nay, the current guildmaster was Archmagister of the Psijic Order. He now resides as Arch-Mage of Tamriel after emancipating his school and its supporters away from the Summerset Isles. He still supports Psijic reasoning, which forbids the rather profane practice of necromancy... he is quite vocal about it.”  
  
At this, the second judge with a fine point professed “return to the beginning of the era, brothers. Arch-Mage Galerion founded the Mages Guild as a reaction to the noxious deeds of necromancer Mannimarco, the King of Worms, the Great Hater in all ways of peace and life. There are several Mage Guilds headquartered in the regions of Glenumbra and Stormhaven and even more are being erected as we speak. Galerion felt the Psijic Order was rather inflexible, and several practitioners of magic are presently answering his calling.”  
  
The captain stood patiently while the tribunal worked out the historical elements of the facts deposited in his statement. After the dust settled, he spoke again “it was through the efforts of Archmagister Salarth and his expert council who translated the confiscated parchments that we could extract the details of the parchment. These contents were determined to be written by the hand of the Countess.”  
  
There was a deliberate pause. “And?” came a plural response from the Inquisitors.  
  
“The papyrus leaves contained instructions toward building an army of giant flesh atronachs.” There was an unsettling in the courtroom. “Furthermore, after additional transcription, these atronachs were to be assigned as guardians of a Daedric text as a service to Mannimarco, the “ _Tome of Unlife_ ”.  
  
“If you are capable, explain the _Tomb of Unlife_ to the court.” At this remark, the Countess bowed her head.  
  
The captain was at a loss for words. “My understanding is that it is the lexicon containing instructions for becoming a lich.” spouted the first judge. This was met with a minor shrug and a nod from the other two judges.  
  
The second judge with a slight sigh returned his gaze to the witness. As a type of response, Captain Etienne folded his arms across his chest.  
  
Pausing, the third judge said impatiently, “is that all?”  
  
The captain sternly responded with a snort, “is it not enough?”  
  
“Meaning, if nothing remains of your testimony you may return to your seat.”  
  
With a salute and a pivot, the captain determinedly routed back to his seat in exactly the same manner that triggered his approach.  
  
After adjusting his spectacles, the first judge continued, “we have heard from the captain of the Wayrest city guard. Bring forth the next witness on the account of aiding and abetting the undead.”  
  
Approaching the bench was a character whose countenance the Countess did not recognize, but she was familiar with the accoutrements adorning the garb of the one wearing it. He represented one of the Knightly Order, specifically the _Knights of the Lamp_ order. They are known for culling soldiers who act as protectorates of regional security forces. They gather to solicit information for, and defend the interests of, the Mage’s Guild. This individual was outfitted in partial plate mail and velvet fabrics stitched with the famous circumscribed eye placed in a four corner setting. He approached the bench in much the same manner as the Captain of Wayrest before him.  
  
“State your name and station,” commanded the second judge.  
  
“I am Both gro-Moghakh the Pervader, of Orsinium, Palitinus to the _Order of the Lamp_ answering to the Arch-Mage Galerion and one of the acting protectorates of the High Rock region.  
  
“You have come to offer testimony that compromises the truthful account of the Countess?”  
  
“Indeed. I represent the head of an order that acts in the best interests of the Mages Guild, to include those in violation of their learned practices and ethical practice of alchemy and magicka, particularly necromancy. We perform several services to the public, providing salves and liquids for healing, enchantments to the betterment of Tamriel folk to include those citizens of Wayrest and all those resident of High Rock. As an organization we were all, somewhat recently I should add, formed to protect the Guild against violent territories and insurgents who might pose a threat to the well being and the sanctity of its people.”  
  
“The first judged sighed, “respectfully, we are not here to hear the ruminations of your Guild, or your prior commitments to the people of the state, I would ask you limit your introductions-”  
  
Interrupting, the Palitinus said, “I am simply demonstrating my credibility to the court as I account transpired events that brings the Countess to this courtroom, honorable inquisitor.”  
  
“Be brief about it. You bore testimony to her actions, very well. Describe them to the court gathered here today.” The second judge folded his arms.  
  
“Again, the Mage’s Guild has strong resentment to those who practice necromany. It is serendipitous that I should arrive on the scene to witness the atrocity first hand.”  
  
“It is this pattern of thinking that invites the return of Mannimarco to this land!” This outcry from the Countess turned a number of heads in the audience away from the Palitinus who so far had commanded the court’s attention.  
  
“Your second warning, Countess,” came a response from the third judge. “You will have a chance to speak in your defense.”  
  
To this Erzsêbet looked to her accuser and said, “these are the actions that will garner great interest with Ulliceta gra-Kogg, of your own kind, who still delivers a strong impact with Orsenia and the Guild to which you profess your allegiance.”  
  
The third judge slammed his gavel. “Not another word, Countess, or I shall have the court constable bind you!” To this Erzsêbet held back her boiling expression and with some dissolution remained quiet. Her thoughts retreated away from the courtroom for the first time, relishing a period when she was training with her constables, wielding a sword too heavy for her in her youth. She has bore it since, and could carry it now. She was quite proficient with it, really. Cleaving the skull of this Orc in the battlefield, or her private courtyard was not the first thought that entered her mind as she was forced to consider his words. But it _was_ the last satisfying thought as she once again sought to compose herself.  
  
Both continued: “I was assigned to the Glenumbra district. Being on patrol during off hours, closing in upon the midpoint of the day-night cycle, I noticed a light coming from one of Ayleid ruins sites in the forest near Stormhaven, south of Riverspire as documented in my report. It was here that I witnessed a gathering of individuals, fourteen to be precise. There were twelve individuals in cowled and hooded robes and two others whose countenances I shall never forget, leading a sort of Daedric proceeding. They were practicing some sacred and forsaken ritual. Their focus was on an altar before them which the hooded participants circumscribed, or half-surrounded, while chanting the same words repeatedly in Daedroth form, _‘Daedra wer eb dna retne, Clavicus Vile._ ’ The conductor was wearing a ceremonial masque of some kind, with ornate carvings possessing two horns. This masque we later identified as the _Masque of Clavicus._ "  
  
There was a stark silence throughout the chamber. It was this time when others entered bearing torches, who now lit the sconches along the courtroom walls, since the darkness was beginning to creep into the hall. The first judge stammered, “could you identify anyone at this… gathering of apostates?”  
  
“Yes,” replied Both. “Only one. She is present in the courtroom, whom I can identify without fear of contradiction as Countess Erzsêbet.”  
  
There was an anticipated shock and stirring within the audience. The inquisitors did nothing to quell the motion for order, but after a few moments broke the tide of rumblings and hushed words.  
  
“You seem to know a fair amount about the habits of vampires, Palitinus.” This was spoken by the second judge.  
  
“It was the station assigned to me,” replied Both. “I am also as Dibella made me, to confront such wickedness one must travel along a dark path to study it firsthand. If I might continue?”  
  
The second judge motioned for his continuance on the account. “What else did you witness?”  
  
“An abhorrent act against all things Aedric and civil minded.” At this, Both shuffled his position so as to arrange himself a few inches closer to the panel before him. “Please bear in mind, I am a soldier and have seen many things under Akatosh and above the unmentionable Clavicus Vile, Prince of Bargains. I have earned my position within the Guild as a result of my exposure to such wicked and heinous acts of mortals, several of which have assembled in this courtroom. In short form, I saw first hand a Blood Ritual. These are performed as a means of infecting, in mass quantities, those individuals with a condition we call _Noxiphilic Sanguivoria_. Essentially, it invites the onset of vampirism to its victim, or more accurately its host. But there was something different about the sequence of this particular event.”  
  
“How so?” came from the third judge.  
  
“I had never heard of the masque, its pretense or involvement regarding a ritual of this type. This was proven by what was brought forth next to the altar. A youngling lass, a Breton clad in a white flowing garment was escorted before the Countess. The conductor brandished an ornate dagger. I noticed the scripted Daedric runes upon the blade even from the relatively far distance I was thusly hidden. With it, he slaughtered the poor waif as she lain across the altar. A most ghastly sight, the rote-like motion which did not affect the participants, and why should it? I will reveal their true nature shortly. It will remove all doubt. Beneath the altar was a trough that collected her blood as she bled to death ferociously but in silence. The bloodletting lasted for many minutes, and she lay motionless until her end.”  
  
The first judge said, “you then reported this incident to your Guild, I gather. So... you did not intervene?”  
  
“I was alone without support from my fellow order. I had my suspicions about the members of the vile gathering I helplessly observed and so rushed back to the Guild. Upon return and after reporting to the Arch-Mage I summoned the Order and returned to the ruins in full force. I confess, I did not expect to find any of the remaining participants, as they must have scurried off after the insidious deed. However, we investigated the landscape including the blood stained altar, the shed garment and other clues. By sunrise we found an article of interest I wish to present to the court.”  
  
With some presumption, Both reached into his orcish tunic and produced a document written on a papyrus sheet of peculiar texture. It was a flesh-toned fabric that rippled with less give than ordinary parchment. “We had this page studied under arcane means. Our magicka was discerning enough to trace its origin, to include the longhand scriptions on both sides of the page. The contents are less important, directions to the site and some provisioning for the forthcoming deed I witnessed. Some of this can be conjectured from the diagram as seen here,” he motioned to what appeared to be a rough map tracing a boat passage to Daggerfall from, of all places, the Alik’r Desert. "A layman could identify these coordinates, but we discerned that the entries on this document were written at the remote location of an ancient cemetery, Motalion Necropolis. This is a popular roosting for necromancy and undead activity which has been documented elsewhere beyond High Rock but confirmed by the Arch-Mage Galerion.”  
  
Any notes the Orc had prepared for his dissertation to the court he unshuffled in an act of completion. “For the court’s gratification, I have now produced an artifact containing instructions toward the future site, abduction and wicked bloodletting of an innocent subject of High Rock. Her name is not mentioned, however the time and placement are exact. These words were placed on the page by the hand of one coming from the lineage of the Montalion Vampire Clan, who have long served the Daedric order; specifically Clavicus Vile. The presence of the Countess at the Blood Ritual confirms her involvement with the undead, their wicked mores and vile articulations, and places her before us as the primary suspect in the slaughter of a young girl. Regarding motive, we can only assume her abetting vampires and indirectly the Daedra was a means of gaining support from Mannimarco, our common enemy. I submit that in the end, these wicked paths would lead to Malacath's domain from which there can be no rescue. I leave this judgment before you.”  
  
The three judges silently conferred a moment, directing their gaze and their fingers toward the defendant. The Countess seemed unaffected by the obvious display of directed wrongdoing. The Second judge stood and recited to the court: “The defendant will now have an opportunity to address the charges, and testimony, mounted against her. May Akatosh permit the preceding account as being truthful, unbiased and garner wisdom from the panel to draw a sound judgment upon her in defense of the members of the Breton people of High Rock.”  
  
The first judge removed his spectacles and sternly commanded the Countess, “you may approach and deliver your story to the court.”


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout its history, the region of High Rock has seen its fair share of plagues and insurgences. The Escedtől family has weathered them from first to last. Like the soaring of an arrow that finds the kink in the collective armor of the imperial army, the surging of her royal bloodline has appropriated just the right amount of persuasion during the worst of times. Her royal family members have been empowered to offset the changing political climate, culminating in the signing of the Daggerfall Covenant. Daggerfall and Wayrest have postured themselves boldly as premiere trading centres of High Rock, swapping their successful import and export of goods while timing the release of embargoes against Valenwood and others supporting the Aldmeri Dominion. This culture of trading tips a precarious balance affecting the "greater good" for the people of High Rock, including those of her own kingdom, who are quite familiar with the constant push and pull of agrarian living.  
  
The hierarchy of the High Rock region must endure. It has long prospered in the midst of its current feudal system, but the crack in the wall is widening. For the price of trade stability, farming stability, coastal border stability and so forth, she thinks the multiple fractions will be spread too thinly. The increased bellyaching for reinforcements and armament from her fiefdoms already indicate this. Many Bretons have been looking to rebuild the region under a single empire. The Countess has known this for years, given the social and market indicators throughout Tamriel. This has been substantiated to a point by Lady Ulliceta, with whom she admittedly has had several secret dialogues. In any case, all these wants represent a type of counter-culture that ought to be ignored.  
  
She breathed in her situation, allowing her mind to wander. With few exceptions, her people are a proud, intelligent and well focused people. Not to say that the Bretons would ever be questioned for being the best scholars of the arcane arts, no! They are, and have always been, the penultimate authority in all of Tamriel! To deny this embraces an envy shared by many others. Furthermore, have they not developed the land's agriculture into what it is today? All the while nourishing what has become a blossoming waterfront economy? No, Bretons can be considered the hardiest of folk. All High Rock citizens carry a certain pride of ownership in all of this and why not? The spirit and caliber of the people of High Rock is indomitable, possessing an unqualified resilience to adversity. A people who now serve under the blue lion banner of the Daggerfall Covenant. “This includes me,” she half-uttered aloud, one of the people’s highest representatives, second only to Emeric himself.  
  
Erzsêbet is no stranger to King Emeric, who no doubt has commanded the merchant routes as a ploy to further his own interests. The fact that his people have prospered under his ruling should be held secondary to the apparent ambitions had by a man who, admittedly, has earned the trust and forthcoming alliance of the kingdoms of High Rock, Orsinium and even the Redguard of Hammerfell. But at what cost? Clearly, Emeric was a man who knew how to influence the people's perception of his deeds. It is no wonder that the sheep of his kingdom continue to herd towards the promise of reunification, even if it snubs every tradition that holds the land together.  
  
All of which is why she depends on her association with Lady Ulliceta and will continue to soothe the bond they share with the Mage's Guild. The Psijics have it all wrong. It would be folly to ignore such an opportunity to harness such power, maintaining their hold over one another as a nation. Blood magic and necromancy are tools, devices, a means to an end that will allow High Rock to flourish without having to pander to the impulses of yet another Imperial nation. Similarly, her association with Montalion and other vampire clans is no less a resource. Such an undercurrent is good for her people and the sanctity of her monarchy. And if it means extending her own mortality by adopting their unorthodox practices, so be it! The influence on her people will also continue to thrive, with or without the _Masque of Clavicus Vile_. To this last point she will not underestimate the investigative powers of the _Order_ again.  
  
Is she surprised at the recent turn of events? No. In truth there is no reversal or “turnabout”. Quite predictable. She has faced prejudice and jealousy most of her life. If the people want change, let them witness it first hand. Promises of prosperity, bah! Poverty is for those who simply fail to reach, or even dream a higher reality. Stovepiping trade routes reduces the independency of her kingdom's citizenry, they will come to see this. Evidently, it took one too many failed invasions to come to this: a Covenant that draws the largest bureaucratic council in Tamriel’s history to operate outside the border, and one that will bleed each separate kingdom to an anemic level and bring the region to a standstill.  
  
All these things she considered as she prepared to speak against her defamers. They _should_ be forced to listen. In her attempts at soliciting reason this day, she better understands what she is up against. Their waywardness to not abide with her vision only proves her point. This trial goes far beyond the magistrate, for it's the people of High Rock who have lost.  
  
Still, in spite of her initial outburst she takes these formal allegations seriously. Even now in the back of her mind she is preparing a recapture plan, if not for her own people then one that will preserve her very existence on Nirn. If necessary she will take her plea to Mannimarco. She does not fear confrontation, yet she will have her retribution. The decisions on this day will be fraught with the most dire of consequences for everyone serving the alliance. In the end, her kingdom shall be perched upon the embers and fanning the flames to thwart and eliminate all those who oppose her.


	4. Chapter 4

“Countess? You may pronounce your defense for the court.”  
  
Erzsêbet was regaining her composure as she settled back into her surroundings. The second judge lowered his gaze to the Countess. “You may now testify in your defense. As a reminder, should you refuse to testify this refusal will be interpreted as proof of your guilt.” This directive came from the third judge. He spoke with some indignation, an easy interpretation given his exaggerated expression. Erzsêbet knew that, as the accused, if she were to refuse a confession she would be subject to torture until her deeds were finally admitted. Following this she would have to confess again, while not under torture, for the court to accept her admission of guilt. Only then could a sentence be pronounced.  
  
Throughout the trial, Countess Erzsêbet was also aware of her mortal situation. Her recent schooling in the arcane art of necromancy has assured her of her placement in the afterlife outside the teachings of Akatosh. While she still considers herself an authority of his word she must wonder. Is she, perhaps, a closer conduit to certain... daedric sentiments? Recent testimony suggests that the afterlife harnesses the greater guarantee. After all isn’t the court designed to represent the grinding away of all irrelevancies in a crucible of truth until the crime is absolved?  
  
Beyond all this, it is now clear that her wealth and station are considered a threat. If found guilty Wayrest would profit by confiscating her estate under reasons of heresy. Furthermore, being no stranger to the politics of the temples of Akatosh and the doctrines that bind them together, she now realizes what is at stake. There are eight different temples in the Iliac Bay alone, which serve to unite the separate kingdoms of Glenumbra and the rest of High Rock into a single country, including her own. This trial represents a natural response towards the insurrections, wars, and plagues, which (candidly) helped maneuver High Rock and her estate into power. There are other reasons to be sure, but none of these situations should be recognized without ignoring the obvious precedent being staged. It is evident to Erzsêbet that this tribunal, or at least this trial, represents the desire to unify the Eight Divines and weaken local political authorities and other inherited alliances, including hers. Simply, it _had_ to be.  
  
With this under her own advisement she began reciting her defense.  
  
“Throughout my life I have been subjected to many forms of neglect since my childhood-”  
  
“Is this your defense, that you were not wet nursed as a child?” interrupted the second judge.  
  
“I am attempting to establish context, magistrate. Several witnesses have procured testimony without interruption, I implore the indulgence of the court to allow me an opening statement.”  
  
“Indeed, you are granted such a statement in the proceedings of this order. Proceed, then.”  
  
Erzsêbet straightened a bit more, feeling the rapid flow of blood in her veins. Once again, she resisted the urge to summon her powers of necromancy. It would be such a sweet release, but instead she resorted to logic. “Emotional abuse, or persecution of character should never serve as a proper defense for anyone accused of the crimes listed before this court. It exists to my advantage then, as I have the convenience of having not committed a crime.”  
  
Again the second judge interjected, “Countess, you are forgetting that you must prove your innocence here today and establish your dis-association to the events that have transpired and have been recorded before us, otherwise we should be compelled to find you, or any other Tamriel citizen for that matter, guilty of the crimes that have been identified and affiliated to you and more importantly, to one in your position.”  
  
Erzsêbet counted back without contemplation, “of course, if I am to be found guilty then the tribunal and Emeric himself would benefit from my deportation. My kingdom and properties would then be left to the state. That is certain. That would be Daggerfall justice in one day.”  
  
“A moot point,” said the third magistrate. "In saying nothing, those befallings you mention would be accomplished in spite of your mounted defense. Here, by the mercy of the court, you have an opportunity to convince us of any lack of culpability on your part.”  
  
“In other words, I should be thanking you?” offered the Countess.  
  
The third magistrate concluded, “in other words, this is your last chance, Countess Erzsêbet.”  
  
She once again prepared herself. Her best opportunity in addressing this court, a tribunal of callings to preconceived judgment would be to resolve this trial with a compound of logical arguments. The cadence must be delicate, as they have already made up their minds. “There serves no better example of mistaken identity than being confused for a Daedra, or one’s involvement in the proclivities of the undead. This is because such an involvement, the mere utterance of such a possibility feeds the great fear machine. Everyone in this courtroom at one time or another has observed how simple it is to retreat to the... darker recesses of one’s mind rather than explore the darkness that envelopes the wickedness of a repugnant scene, either of which described today. In spite of ourselves, in an effort to uncover the truth, it is _easier_ to ignore other possibilities; prospects that pose even greater risks to the comfort and sanctity of our well being. I know. The life I have lived, I know this to be so. I myself have tread the path between light and darkness on so many occasions, as have you, in an effort to sanctify the downtrodden, the weary... the _damaged_ ; for me it is an almost daily commute to the most familiar of destinations.”  
  
This caused an overdue silence amongst the courtroom members. “I also understand the ease at which one casts blame and accountability upon one another. Let us be honest, blaming the wrong person for a crime one has committed can be… liberating. After all, we are all killers, just killers of different types. As a species we have instinctively taken down others and what better opportunity to misdirect evidence of a crime than to point fingers at each other? Alas, what satisfaction in self-exoneration?  
  
"But what is most bleak is _not_ the fact that penance for such crimes be as heinous as the crime itself, but that the penalty is significantly discriminatory. It never considers those defendants who are truly innocent of the crimes on record. Throughout the land of High Rock, innocents are convicted each and every day, simply because process does not support the disfavored. In this case, the highest form of inequity shall never be associated with the true perpetrator, as such a villain has dodged judgment. Alas again, to strike once more.”  
  
“Countess! This is double-talk. You are suggesting that you know who committed these crimes then?” This came from the first judge.  
  
“I am suggesting that the greater the crime, the greater the antic, or _despair_ in convincing our people that the the true criminal is free to strike again. As hope fades so does our kingdom. It is widely believed only a select few have the capacity to commit such deeds. Deeds that thrive against our own nature. Why then? Because it is easier to comfort one’s _vestige_ by thinking the perpetrator has been handed over to the hands of Stendarr and the hands of justice. In this case, that criminal would appear to be me.”  
  
The second judge interrupted, “there is no argument from the tribunal on that point."  
  
“But a separate argument is raised: against false testimony there is no room for consequences. The danger of mistaken execution is very, very real and gets much worse as Tamriel matures. This is partly due to sloppy investigations like those declared today, but I submit mistakes like these are remnants of a time before the coming of the Daggerfall Covenant. Now that the political grounds have expanded, the opportunities putting the guilty to death also increases. Such executions often rally spectators, and see how the audience has multiplied. In addition, the more abhorrent the deed, the more fleeting reasonable doubt becomes, yes?”  
  
A deliberate pause, after which the Countess said, “I am also arguing the political agenda of proceedings, like these. It is as if they serve to justify more killing, in a kill-friendly state such as this. I would submit that such an agenda is dangerous, reckless and inspires the worst political subterfuge since the First Era. I submit this tribunal is likewise dangerous and reckless, not because of its authority but because of its wanton use of that authority."  
  
The third judge made comment at this, “Countess, we are not here to examine or reel back the legal doctrine of High Rock or King Emeric’s judicial position, we are here to examine the vileness of the crimes of… Secretary General, if you would repeat the charges?”  
  
From the rear of the hall the Secretary General read aloud, “the charges against the Countess include abduction, mass slaughter, sadistic torture, offering comfort and abetting the undead, heresy and treason.”  
  
The third judge continued, "you have said yourself that as a species we are free to kill and have done so, but with consequences."  
  
"To kill, not torture. Not plan to hand over an entire realm to Daedra. Not to freely associate with undead or speak against the Aedra."  
  
"And yet you cloak your arguments by shielding yourself with articles of the Daggerfall Covenant which you earlier declared as dogmatic." posited the second judge.  
  
Erzsêbet countered, "by offering alternatives to the Covenant, we are forcing ourselves into a reexamination of the rights of Wayrest citizenry. The articles are a means of protecting the guilty."  
  
Down came the gavel. "We will hold you in contempt and add an additional article to the charge of treason for your spoken words!"  
  
To which Erzsêbet responded, “in response, I submit then, since you are the ‘merciful court’ you claim to be, that summary judgment be pronounced due to a fundamental lack of motive, and more importantly evidence, as neither have been established,” summarized the Countess. “This case is subjective, circumstantial and based entirely on hearsay and testimonies that are false on several levels, to include mistaken identity and poorly conceived and inconclusive evinces. If indeed this is _not_ the court of public opinion, which you have also indicated for the record, the consequences are less predictable, yet inevitably it appears you have already pronounced consensual judgment. I am here to force you to reconsider your prejudice.  
  
“So let us examine the attainments procured before the court. What is the evidence? A stained bathtub and a few bloody buckets and tools on my property that were appropriated from the slaughterhouse. I can only imagine none of the magistrates before me have ever entertained a ballroom event or buffet for his community?”  
  
There was a pause, but the second judge replied, “true enough, but I am recalling something about body parts littering the chamber at your estate.”  
  
“If you were closely associated with farm hands as have I, you would know that every part of the animal, whether they be boars, cattle or sow, must be minced and cleaved to create enough food rations for an entire kingdom. The availability of food for my people falls upon me. It can be a messy business and the containing of blood is often a challenge.”  
  
The third judge surprisingly nodded his head. Still he countered, “even so, associating with the undead…”  
  
“...and now we return to mistaken identity. We have all heard the account that 'twelve individuals in cowled and hooded robes' were present, their faces concealed and blended. It so happens that on the date in question, I was out of the country and... answering another summons.”  
  
“To where and with whom?” snapped the first judge.  
  
The Countess paused a moment. She deliberated whether to announce her involvement with the Mage’s Guild. It would likely sever the relationship she has taken such time to establish with Lady Ulliceta. Focusing on the ceiling after playing it in her mind she determined that a lie would suffice. “It was a family affair. Proof of which is attainable and can come with ease.”  
  
“You did not procure any such writs or preliminaries for the court? This damages the credibility of your claim.” The three judges motioned to one another for a silent conference that lasted a number of minutes.  
  
It was a frail lie, but she did not expect the case to go in this direction and so had not prepared for it. After mumblings outside of the bench had reached a crescendo, the first judge dropped the gavel for silence and told the Countess with a tone of finality that, “we cannot accept your statement accounting for your alleged appearance elsewhere. We must assume your position being amongst the other members at the scene of bloodletting told by the Orsimer constable as factual.”  
  
There was a long moment of silence as the second judge and the Countess were deadlocked into a stare. Finally, the first judge, who was now appearing even more impatient asked, “Is there anything left to offer in your defense? Anything more to sway our judgment on this matter?”  
  
“Oh, I have much more.”


	5. Chapter 5

Archmagister Salarth was fascinated with Tamriel history and culture. Especially how it pertained to the origins of the Arcane University and the more recent Mage Guilds. What started as a “fleetingly good idea”, collecting all the Mystics of Tamriel outside of Summerset and convincing them that their combined charitable efforts could sustain an entire pedagogy of magical practices and research has since evolved into what it has now become: a revolution. Instead of rehearsing the art of magic behind closed doors or in solidarity, mages throughout Tamriel have all banded together to become a collective entity much greater than the sum of its parts.  
  
Salarth had only recently been offered the stewardship of the Mage’s Guild of Anvil. Stemming from a rather modest start as librarian at the Mage’s Library (with certain proclivities awarded to him for restoration research) he now takes great pride in serving the Council of Six, as one member of a governing council of Archmages serving Arch-Mage Galerion. He does not mind the controversy regarding the aforesaid practice of magic in populated areas. He felt this was a means of providing magical goods and services for all citizens of Tamriel. And not just for the aristocrats, the elite or scholastic bound. Convincing King Rilis XII to award such a charter, especially when one considers its foundation made years ago by Iachesis and his relic order the Psijics, was an accomplishment that continues to find its way into delicate prose and Tamrielic lore through song. Salarth felt it ought to be socialized by the Skalds of Solitude, instead of the repeated bard chants and bleats about the high king of Firsthold which propagate through almost every inn and tavern in Cyrodiil.  
  
He looked about his office chamber. It was pleasantly dank, but not unkempt. It had a "recent" quality to it, new to him at least. Nothing like the hall from which he came back in Anvil. The lonely candle on his desk provided enough illumination to conduct his research and properly arrange and identify the baubles of his profession. It cast the type of shadows that comforted him when he was feeling alone and unattended. The air was fortified by the scent of thistle branch, which he kept burning as a form of incense.  
  
The relief and familiarity of the shadows reassured him while privately engaging with the students of the hall.The shadows seemed to conjure the right number of crannies for supporting banter and topics of discussion. _Might even scare away the riff-raff of uninvited guests,_ he thought, but before him was a special guest.  
  
“You _are_ a rather poor listener, aren’t you?” Archmagister Salarth released a sigh as he shifted his gaze from the pockets of his robe to the countenance of Lady Ulliceta who sat before him.  
  
“I am as Julianos made me, Salarth” pounced the Orsimer. “This is not Anvil, you know. You are in Cyrodiil now. A much larger arena. Get used to repeating yourself in a public forum, since that is the precipice upon which the Mages Guilds have built their reputation. Recent reputation, I might add.”  
  
“Better that _you_ remember the Psijic Order has lost much credibility over the centuries. Just because you have leaped from one mighty chapter of Tamriel history to another does not offer the versatility you assume or inspire belief from others. You and I have known each other for several years. You have a magnanimous habit of preaching your confidences as if they offer some great historical record that no-one has thought up beforehand. You really need to work on that.” Salarth reclined in his wooden chair of Bosmer. He felt he had the higher ground, lecturing to Lady Ulliceta. He did so as if she were one of his students. After all, they were in his classroom office of the Mages Guild in Cyrodiil.  
  
Likewise, Lady Ulliceta felt it was _she_ who had the upper hand when it came to discussing matters of study and disseminating knowledge. Pronouncing the freedom of magic, that is practicing it without fear of prejudice or persecution was her _demesne_. This was one of her better known deeds, one that captured the interest of several Guild members, eventually landing her here. “If we left everything to you and Galerion there would be a widespread distrust of all mages!”  
  
“You have lost me, my dear,” he began. "We are... liberating the minds of nearly every citizen of Cyrodiil, without coercion or constraint, and welcoming the open practice of magic with open arms.”  
  
“As long as it suits your agenda. _Your_ needs. Have you ever tried observing the private study habits of the arcane arts with the proper lens? Have you ever considered it as self-serving? That is how it will be interpreted.” Ulliceta felt something stirring within. She continued her retort, “by insisting on keeping the study of necromancy locked in a box, we are sealing doors that ought to be opened. And _left_ open, so that others can divine its secrets.”  
  
“Well. That did not take long,” said Salarth with a smirk.  
  
She was unaffected by the insult. “Really, Salarth, some secrets are worth exploring. The act of manifesting the hidden energies of the dead has as much a rightful place, at the least, in the classroom. There is so much hidden potential here. If only you and your brethren would stop and consider it.”  
  
Salarth said, “evidently, you would bring dissent upon a merger that has only shown prosperity for all those who appreciate the harnessing of magic; its properties and its benefits.”  
  
She replied, “I would never question the worth in consolidating our people's research for the sake of the craft. After all, knowledge not shared is useless. I am sure you agree. But limiting ourselves to simply the Psijic foundry and... the rest of your disciplines is folly. A wasted opportunity to be sure.”  
  
" _Our_ disciplines." Salarth took a deep breath and dug inside his pockets, producing a pipe. He filled it with a morsel of jarrin root, which he acquired by a member of the Dark Brotherhood along the Gold Coast. At least he assumed he was a member, as they are known for smuggling the best pipe weed in that region. Igniting it and inhaling deeply, he withdrew for a moment and considered her words and demeanor. She was quite a handsome maiden. For an orc, he reminded himself. She had a remarkable instinct for unveiling the vulnerabilities of an argument. He recalled a time more tender than the one they were sharing now. But her words, they were still beguiling whatever the setting.  
  
There is nothing negligent or remiss about expanding the boundaries of common knowledge, to be sure. As she says, knowledge should be shared. However, there are conditions where seeds of understanding should remain unsowed, the offspring of knowledge untouched. Someone must champion what should behest the learner, the student, the teacher and the preacher. Should not some pursuits be left unattended? Some inquiries left abandoned? It would be presumptuous to think that _anyone_ should acquire greater knowledge than those being worshipped.  
  
Lady Ulliceta made her closing: “half of the mages worth their merit scoff at the idea of banning necromancy.”  
  
Salarth reacted more abruptly to this. “You should be more concerned about the half that would take and harness the dark offerings of necromancy, forging them into a weapon to be used against the teachings of the Mages Guild! That is to say nothing of an onslaught against the people of Tamriel.” He went further, “to think how we would be judged by Akatosh and the Divines.”  
  
“Why should they even care? The dead are dead. They would never have a say in any of this, anyhow. Ever. Their claim has passed. The root of necromancy is selfless and should be interpreted as an act of welfare.”  
  
“Make no mistake about the dead, their claim is undying.” The Archmagister rose from his seat and wandered to the far end of his office. Approaching one of several bookshelves he procured a text that, after blowing some residual dust from its front cover, revealed an inscription that Ulliceta recognized. She was less sure that Salarth would be familiar with it, however.  
  
“I would think possession of that book is contraband, Salarth.”  
  
“Yes, but as Archmagister I am hoping together we can afford a blink on administrative privileges, do you agree?”  
  
Not expecting a response he opened a random page and uttered softly, such that no one outside the chamber would ever hear, “ _...stay faithful to the Order of the Black Worm, and in time your loyalty will be rewarded. Soon, He will return to set the world right in due time, and those who would stand in his way will suffer eternally at his hands, just as those who stood opposed before. Until that day, you must believe and be patient. Hide in your caves, in your ruined forts, in your secret lairs. Raise your minions, summon your servants, cast your spells. Answer the call of the Order when you are needed…_ ” He stiffened. "Hardly the act of a do-gooder. These words portray the opposite of terms you posited earlier: unselfish, non-exclusive, and something about the welfare of others? I think not. And I speak for the Six on this.”  
  
It is times like these when Lady Ulliceta retreats to fond memories of her Orc homeland of Nova Orsinium. For a people regarded as brutal and savage, orcs certainly know how to rally for order, she thought. Aside from some bouts of religious persecution, her fellow Orsimers are (at their core) a non-crusading people who by taming the land have sought to create additional homelands for all Orsimers. Orcs have always been considered penurious and beggarly for far too long. In retrospect, the Daggerfall Covenant was likely the best recourse for her people; she is not ashamed to admit this.  
  
Alas, all this retrospection was a bad omen, she thought. Ulliceta realized long ago that, when backed into a corner, she always relied on the pride of her people for solace. But hope is not lost. She has an ally from which she can call upon. If necessary she would bring the fight to her.  
  
Salarth could be convincing, yes. If it weren't for their shared history, she might consider his words with greater mediation. But she had a job to do.  
  
As she was about to offer comment, Salarth turned away. “I cannot help but think you would say anything at this point to earn clemency for Countess Erzsêbet. You two are thick as thieves.”  
  
Lady Ulliceta was caught flat-footed by this remark and instinctively reached for the portal stone she wore around her neck. She knew there were rumors of her association with Erzsêbet, but nothing had been substantiated. She had seen to that. “Erzsêbet and I are merely acquaintances. To think any of this plays a part in some sort of political staging, or-”  
  
“Her fate by the end of this day does not bode well for her, or for her fellow Bretons,” came Salarth. “The charges raised against her are extreme and do not allow for much flexibility regarding her sentencing, should she be found guilty.”  
  
It was her turn to examine his words. In a way he was making this easier for her. She fiddled with her portal stone. “Yes, the drumhead."  
  
Salarth looked confused. "Beg your pardon?"  
  
"A drumhead. A trial usually conducted to fence urgent charges committed while serving office. You might have heard it referred to as 'summary justice.' " She did her best to appear well versed and spoken on the subject, but in actuality it was a term she picked up in her youth during the sectarian crusades of her homeland. "In essence, it is a formality used to conceal a verdict that has already been made." Upon this, Salarth relighted his pipe, waiting for her to continue. "You speak as if I might have some say in her exoneration. I am but a mage, and an Orc one at that. I will grieve for her should she befall execution but I think you give me too much credit if you think I could pose any influence on her acquittal.”  
  
“I have my theories,” he glared at the Lady and motioned much closer. “But at the end of it all, let me close by saying it would be most unfortunate should the Countess, such a noted servant of High Rock, fall victim to a crime besought by her persecutors under circumstances such as these. Guilt by association, in particular concerning matters of the dead, is a rampant charge. These predilections are not likely to change by Sundas. Yet if today serves as a reminder that practicing dark magic has its consequences, I am not here to change its trajectory." With emphasis he added, "not in the slightest.”  
  
“At times you sound as limit minded as the courts, Salarth. She is not even on trial for necromancy. Your own account of the bloodletting of which she is accused is bereft of any mention of it.”  
  
“Conjecture has a way of offering flexibility when leveraging the truth.” Salarth smiled openly. “It was omitted because of a lack of evidence, that is all.” Salarth now spoke more determinedly, “but it is _my_ compunction and position that prevails in this instance.”  
  
He replaced the book on its shelf and approached Lady Ulliceta. He touched her cheek with the back of his hand, appreciating the smoothness of her skin. He reached around and pressed his other hand against the small of her back, pressing her towards him, closing the distance between them. She closed her eyes and softly exhaled, allowing the warmth of his hands and the rigidness of his form to subjugate her. The touching was delicate but decisive. She welcomed the arousal she felt in her loins. He kissed her faintly at first but it became more aggressive. She became more and more eager and received his open mouth. By now they were both carried back to an earlier time unfettered by age, politics, civics, stateship or the confines of other less tangible pursuits that brought them here in the first place.  
  
As quickly as it began, he resumed his position behind the desk where he once sat. He breathed his pipe a third time, allowing the smoke to envelope his features. “Ulliceta, this was intended to be a social call. However, I now need to bid your pardon as I have several duties to complete before my own Sundas.” He shuffled some belongings on his desk and redirected his gaze to Lady Ulliceta, “I realized some time ago that I would make enemies should I continue my campaign against necromancy. However, make no mistake. I am not here to be liked.”  
  
“You certainly came to the right place then, Salarth." She smiled. "I only thank the eight divines that you are not in charge.”  
  
“That may well change, Orsimer.”  
  
Lady Ulliceta stood up and excused herself with a curtsy. “Best you keep working on that book of yours, Salarth. Let us see if you can get history right this time around.”


	6. Chapter 6

Most people of High Rock occupy the northernmost peninsula of Tamriel, which borders the city-state of Orsinium. And like most regions, feudal or otherwise, High Rock contains a number of splintered fiefdoms. Each minor kingdom is comprised mostly of Breton clans such as Deselle Isle and the Bjoulsae River folk, while the eastern coast of High Rock represents the strongest history of cultural clash, since the native Reachmen had defended its territory since the First Empire. Presently, the Bretons have held onto this province after the Dissolution of Skyrim's Empire, but there has never been a period stretching beyond a decade or so when the effort to reclaim or sedate the former Reachmen territory was not attempted.  
  
This rugged, almost stubborn way of living contributes to the heartiness and independence of the people that make up High Rock. This also explains their rustic commodities, both in design and permanence, offering a pastiche spread of ideologies that have captured their creative and willful instincts. Unlike their accents, customs and fashions there is very little self-similarity amongst the architecture of each township, making it difficult for a traveller to ever be truly lost during transit, the buildings are so recognizable. "Just pander to the gander if you meander!", a commonly uttered Breton phrase.  
  
Bretons embrace colloquialism but often shrug uniformity. Their resistance to formal integration as an Imperial nation showcases their innovation and resourcefulness. This (with the help of the Orsimers) helped blazen the landscape with Tamriel’s first real farming operation. However, the Bretons are also well known for their artistry and textiles alongside their practiced philosophies and intellectual pursuits. Of course their pronounced proficiency in all things magic is a well known consonant that extends throughout their kind.  
  
Countess Erzsêbet comes from a long line of royalty and embraces these precepts. From her own ancestry she has expertly woven the creed of the Bretons, cultivated it and masterfully enforced it within her house, for her monarchy and by her own personal sensibilities. She always appreciated the religious pursuits of other cultures but abhors the hypocrisy and false entitlement of most priests. Her allegiance lies with Akatosh, but she is compelled by Malacath and his belief system. Whatever her proclivities, she always maintains an accordance with like-minded Bretons.  
  
Her absence is felt throughout her kingdom. For some more than others.  
  
Having complete sovereignty as an autocrat, her governance as Countess of the Escedtől estate of Camlorn was always of a stricter order. This has earned an authoritarian reputation for her. One that describes an exacting, if not outrightly strict personality. Countess _regnant_ , would be more precise; she needs no consort with whom to share her hereditary rule. To that point, most under her ruling have not only accepted this but others could be accused of being unreservedly allured by her manner. She has an austere and bewitching way about her. Such charms are not without precedent for someone in her position, but beyond this she is regarded by many as fetching, ravishing and with an almost “unnatural” youthful appearance. However, such feelings of attraction could never be made public by anyone, her celibacy is on record. And such emotions should be kept close to one's heart, like the one beating within the breast of the Countess’ handmaiden, Chaneliene.  
  
Chaneliene has served as handmaiden for seven years. She has long admired the way the Countess has orchestrated the hands of the estate. Doing so with a poise and grace she had never seen in others before her assignment to this house. She was completely smitten by the Countess. It was only natural that, over the years, she would develop such a personal inclination for her. It felt natural... but it was forbidden. Thus she kept her cravings safely guarded from the other servants and staff, but in private her feelings for the Countess became more wanton. Such feelings would be revealed as carnal desire were anyone to watch. Over the past few months she would often excuse herself, finding an empty room to release herself from her agitated state and return a few minutes later. Perhaps under the suspicion of enjoying a moment of shame. She could never tell.  
  
Chaneliene always looked forward to Loredas as this was the day when the Countess would saddle her horse and tour the countryside. In parting, she would task Chaneliene to wash her garments from the Countess’ private bedchambers. It was during these times that Chaneliene felt the peak of her own arousal, relish it and want for its release. As it were, she entered the bedroom of the Countess, closing the door behind her.  
  
She first noted the opera masque hanging on the wall beside the wall mirror. It was a memento from her attendance at the House of Reveries in Summerset last fall. She let out a sigh, touching the linings along its brow. Reversing it she traced the curves inside the mouth, touching the residue. She tasted it. Looking around as a precaution, Chaneliene placed it on her face and closed her eyes breathing in the sweet essence of the Countess. She then approached the basket of laundry she came for. Without thinking she flung the masquerade mask onto a pillow and lay on the bed, grabbing a loose pair of undergarments beside it. Enjoying the light scent embedded along the lining of the fabric she started rubbing herself with it. For a few minutes she was grateful for this impromptu period of intimacy, knowing this was as close as she would ever get to the Countess without her actual involvement. She began squirming upon the mattress. She felt some nervousness in being caught but eventually surrendered to her own arousal and the familiar intensities of her movements. She began to wonder if the sensations that were welling inside of her could match the reality, since it would never happen. In truth this gave her a pang of sorrow but this too was overrun by the anticipation of the coming wave she would experience in a few moments. She continued to give in to the momentum of her urges, more intensely now. She tried to control her breathing so as not to make any sound in the event anyone would hear beyond the chamber door, which she was certain she locked. She was now very close as she bit her lower lip.  
  
There was suddenly a loud knock at the door, which startled Chaneliene and immediately banished her arousal. In its place, a flood of fear filled her, in that she had indeed revealed her private activity to someone outside. “Just a moment, please!” she gasped, stuffing the damp undergarment in her pocket.  
  
“It is I, Canonreeve Monenck. I need something from the writing desk. Mind if you open the door?”  
  
She took a moment to resign from her unfinished business. Disguising the deed, she prepped the space on top of the rumpled sheets where she once laid. She slid off of the bed and with a pounce opened the door. She was slightly relieved to see the Canonreeve dressed in casual attire. She recognized his tunic, as she had it tailored in the capital city of Sentinel in the Alik'r Desert. Dressed casually, she suspected he was off-duty. She allowed her shoulders to slump. “Canonreeve! Of course, step in.”  
  
He nodded acknowledgement and motioned to the desk, opening a drawer. He fetched a Breton seal and placed it in his pocket. He turned suddenly, “Chaneliene, why was this door locked?”  
  
She felt flushed but answered quickly, “Sire, I often leave the key in the keyhole when I am carrying out my chores for the Countess. It assures me it will not be lost and cannot be stolen. It is a habit, Canonreeve.”  
  
He stared at her but said nothing more on the matter. He advanced to the hallway, examined the key briefly and said, “very well. It is getting late and I need to prepare for this evening’s soiree at St. Delyn Plaza. Please continue with your duties, we must assume that Countess Erzsêbet is coming back from trial and I want the entire castle to be properly received. That means her personal chamber above all else.”  
  
She risked a motion of impertinence, "-do you think she is coming back then?" Chaneliene knew the question was dumb and wavering. Defensively, she immediately reached for a spool of thread to give the impression she was mending the Countess' garments before the Canonreeve’s interruption moments ago.  
  
"You sound desperate, child. If there is one thing I have learned about handling the regulations of this monarchy, this estate is often self-managing while enduring the temporary absence of its benefactors. Put simply, it is how the court best operates."  
  
"Temporary? Then you _do_ think she will be back?"  
  
"Nothing would satisfy this old Canonreeve more. In the absence of our ruler, I am forced to conduct elections and support decisions by those whom I would never even choose to break bread, much less sign anything to support their cause at the chancery. But I consider myself a good steward of this manor, much as you should consider yourself an effective handmaiden for the Countess. In any event, tomorrow is Sundas. We should hear something by then."  
  
"I suppose you are correct, Canonreeve." She finished her sewing, wondering if the Canonreeve was satisfied with the exchange or if he would choose to linger. She proceeded to wash a few select stains from the rest of the Countess' undergarments, with a forced effort that was slightly perceptible. She reminded herself that cleaning the royal attire was an errand she typically conducted outside the presence of others, on the other hand she did not wish to rouse any undue presentiments by rearranging her duty roster before the Canonreeve.  
  
Seemingly fooled by the charade, the Canonreeve left the room. As the door was about to latch he stopped short of closing it saying, "and I shall not ask again, Chaneliene. Fasten your blouse. Just because you are alone in the Countess' chambers does not give you the privilege do parade around with an exposed bosom. Even while she is absent. There is no such thing as overmodesty in this kingdom and an open blouse leaves nothing to the imagination. You have served here long enough to know this." He then pronounced his gaze to the masque which was left lying on the floor by the bed and back once more to Chaneliene before closing the door.


	7. Chapter 7

_Silent and bleak  
but not for unrequited love.  
To fall forever  
a következő szentélyem  
my next sanctuary.  
_

  
  
Perhaps it was within the blood of Countess Erzsêbet, or merely her close association with the people of Iliac Bay that empowered her with enough political charm to penetrate the ranks of the Montalion clan. The fact that they were one of several vampire factions would prove over time to have benefits for her and her kingdom. At the same time she simply enjoyed the clan and their manner of scrutiny. She reveled in their affectations over her and her sovereignty. A more legitimate measure of her charisma, which never failed to give her the power and influence she so desperately craved, would ever be found again. The attention she was taking in was justly deserved. It so happens the attention came from one of the oldest vampire families in all of Tamriel.  
  
Vampirism can be traced back to its founder, Lamae Bal, from the ancient Nede race from the First Era. She represents the first example of a pure-blood vampire; in fact, she is often called the Blood-Matron of her kind. Her history as a Nede is not well known, but her vampire emergence is well documented and considered sacred by several members of the Montalion clan. She was raped by Molag Bal who continues to rule the realm of Coldharbour as the Daedric Prince of Schemes. This invasive action by Molag Bal left her in a comatose state, or provided the proper transition to her undeath, history is not clear on this.  
  
Her body was soon recovered by a local tribe of nomads, which after several failed attempts of resuscitation set her body ablaze upon a funeral pyre. Rising from the ashes, and in a frenzied state, she slaughtered the tribe and raped the men in a peal of violence often glorified by the Montalion clan (and other vampire clans). Behold the first vampire who sought to command an army of her own, introducing the clan concept to Tamriel and the rest of Nirn.  
  
It is a sacred tale that has served the lord clansmen of the Montalion family very well and for many years, and as their leader Cazimir has relentlessly provided faith to those that have brought such glory and grandeur to his family. Even if it meant (or in spite of) meddling with mortal affairs, and even this was only on occasion. He always supported the structure of the vampire clan and as a patriarchy his role as lord progenitor was the most judicious and lucid. His association with the Countess nurtures this disposition and therefore indirectly those of the clan.  
  
Stoically his voice can be heard: “...quite a predicament in which the Countess has placed herself.” Cazimir released the scrying talisman from around his neck. “Very well one and all, what do you think should be done about this? Let the tanács come to order.” He continued to trace the contour of the talisman a few times with his long fingernails. With an ageless finesse he unfurled the cloak that adorned his cuirass and sat; all without making a sound. He had steel blue eyes that did not make contact with those of his companions seated near and across. He softly brushed his long moustache and goatee, which was a peppered shade of grey but otherwise untouched by more than one hundred years of time.  
  
He answered the tanács, or council summons, with some reluctance but eventually realized a discussion should take place on this new matter of civic urgency. Six lit braziers, one perched above each seat representing the council participants, cast a soft but flickering glow intending to hide their faces. Not so much as to mask their identities; the tanács was formed over a hundred years ago, and as such, familiarity was now unbridled. But it did serve to hide their expressions (so as to not notify each neighbors of intention) and help mute individual reactions (so as to not draw, or forge any decision based upon the foundry of another). The chamber was made mostly of stone. It supported the quietness of the meeting with its still air, deep shadows and cool chairs; cool by mortal standards. Each member sat around a large, porous board of granite.  
  
There were six members of the Montalion family seated about Cazimir, two of which were once categorical _bloodfiends_ , both outlasting him in their ranks. As their progenitor, he admittedly grew tired of these gabfests but once again he acquiesced to meeting with the tanács in the good name of the Countess. After all, she had provided the clan with a political insight on several occasions that others simply could not dispatch. Typically matters of property, trade, and from all appearances, looking the other way regarding the clan's more discretionary measures. Most of these facts could not be denied by the council. Not easily at any rate, but he prepared for any such arguments. Their responses came to Cazimer in sequence:  
  
“A predicament by her own design. As a bounty to Molag Bal, we cannot interfere with the words or actions of the Wayrest Court.” This came from the longest serving member of the clan, but not the tanács. Called simply the Elder, for over a hundred years his deeds have become an official narrative throughout the clan’s history. "We would appear submissive, which would stultify our family reign and eventually make us appear anemic."  
  
“Indeed,” interjected the only female vampire member of the tanács. She often acted as official intermediary should decisions by the council require extra weighting on a referendum. But it was Cazimer who always navigated the decision route in the event of a tanács stalemate. His word broke all standoffs and she knew it. But outside of the tanács, hers was considered the most compromising of positions throughout the clan. “Now is not the best of times to institute a charter that might be explicated; one that could be interpreted as anything other than a billowing undercurrent of patience with the established vampire laws amongst our clan.”  
  
Closing a tome which was always at his side, and sitting next to the Elder, the clan chancellor began, “I submit the Countess has earned rightfully what she is about to receive. Anyone so careless as to commit such crimes against her own people must concede to punishment.” As a secretary, his experience with minutiae was unqualified. His recall on matters of doctrine, proceedings and sentencing was equally unqualified.  
  
The chief barrister of the clan was the first to make response to this. “ _Alleged_ crimes, lest we forget. And we should not be so haughty as to administer any outside reasoning. Their laws are different from ours, let us not rush to judgment. Their jurisdiction belongs to them.” He managed a quick glance to Cazimir, an act considered inappropriate, but spotted a slight nod of approval from the progenitor.  
  
“ _Everything_ we do as a clan is outside jurisdiction,” spoke the chancellor once again. “I am not making a case for the Countess, I am representing the interests of the clan!”  
  
“And as a clan we must pursue each advantage that might further our underground cause, if not for clan advancement than for the sake of our own continuation.” This came from the chief constable, who has historically been uninterested in process. He withdrew from its sheath his Cidhnan shiv and fidgeted with it, waiting for the proper response to his remark. It was coming, judging from the hand-waving actions of the state coordinator.  
  
The state coordinator rose from his seat. “Yes, underground for now. But a growing number within our ranks are looking to cultivate a plan of assimilation.” The state coordinator was the newest member of the clan and in turn was reputed to be the most impressionable. His reputation often supported his liberal nature, particularly with his interpretation of vampire statutes governing the clan.  
  
The intermediary looked away from her folded hands. "Assimilation? With whom?"  
  
“The daywalkers. There are several facets to examine here and any of them could impede our next collective course of action. As state coordinator, it is my duty to draw such parallels and crossings.” Pausing for effect, “we claim to know the Countess and treat her as an ally, but do any of us actually _know_ her _?_ Do any of us truly understand her intentions? ”  
  
“My immediate response would be that her intentions are to be released from the court as a free noble,” interrupted Cazimer who was looking for an opportunity to speak.  
  
The state coordinator froze for a moment, but snapped in response. “To do what, exactly? Open the gates of her kingdom and grant the Montalion clan sanctuary? I think not. And you do _know_ her, do you not?”  
  
Cazimer frowned. “You are predicating your suppositions falsely, statesman. Our engagement as a clan with Countess Erzsebet should not be perceived as an act of comfort. That is simply not the case. No such moderation exists to support our need for her influence or her estate as any form of... sanctuary.  
  
“Nevertheless, we must acknowledge that her input over the years has helped regulate our operations. For all we know there are decisions made within her own court that have been in our best interests, set into action by the Countess. Do we have proof otherwise?”  
  
The state coordinator turned his head and spoke softly. “Cazimer, I would be more agreeable if we saw her actions were cast back upon her fellow Breton's but I think we all agree her deeds are becoming personal, and do not reflect upon her kingdom. Even Orsinium has taken note of this behavior. Has any of us even met anyone from her court?  
  
"I think your affairs with the Bretons have besmirched your judgment. The Bretons are, after all, our meals.” He then postured with a gained confidence and began raising his voice, “or is it judgment that allows you to casually walk into her lair, to be seduced by her beauty? And by a mere mortal? You speak of her as one of us! One questions whether your decisions are entirely your own! And the rumours, oh how they abound, her practice of-” at this he stopped speaking, instead raising his hands to his chest. His motions became frantic, rubbing underneath his jerkin violently where his heart had once been.  
  
After a subjective period of time, Cazimer spoke. His hand was outstretched. “Tell me once again how I should conduct myself with others outside the clan.” After waiting for a response he knew would never come, he faintly gestured with his hand for all to see. He then rose from his seat, once the state coordinator picked himself off the floor.  
  
Cazimer addressed the tanács with a tone of finality, “it is time. To decide whether or not to enforce our sacred and customary precautions as an ovation to our Daedric ancestors, or to act in the interests of the Montalion clan. These actions are not mutually exclusive. As a reminder, the Daedra do not abscond the mortals necessarily. They are beings that simply did not take an interest in the creation of Nirn. Some of their guidance has stretched the moral radius of some mortals but we, and they as well, must take note of those Daedra auspices that align themselves with a plethora of mortal affairs. In this instance those of the Bretons and those of the Countess.  
  
“There is no middle ground with Aedra nor Daedra alike. No bargaining, no concessions. No compromising. They do what they do. An argument could in fact be made that there are Aedra considered almost _wicked_ to Nirn, given the extent of freedoms and privileges they extend to their worshipers. _Anuics_ of... transition, which often points to chaos. Commerce, which leads to greed. Change, which is never predictable. Mercy, which repeatedly benefits the weak. And for lack of a better word, lust. As always, it is the actions of mortals that matter, less so their beliefs. These include ours.”  
  
Cazimer rapped his knuckles onto the large granite table that separated the members of the council. He rose and strolled about its perimeter. “Tap into wisdom, my brethren. _Agea haelia ne jorane emero laloria._ Our actions today will be fraught with the most dire of consequences should they fail.” Cazimer continued stroking the talisman, waiting for the tanács to respond. He already had his answer.


	8. Chapter 8

“Not so close, child. You are dragging your feet too close to the water edge. You will soil the hem of your dress.” Monenck watched as a young Erzsêbet played with the young fire salamander. This one was just past it’s infancy, not yet to be considered a threat, although Erze’s nimble fingers were pinching and prodding to the point of agitating the small creature.  
  
“I do not want to have it scurry away!” she shouted. “See how it wiggles? It is easy for it to slip from my hands and-”  
  
“It is one of Arkay’s creatures, youngling.” Interrupting, Monenck realized this presented an opportunity to impart some fundamental acceptations of life. He took notice of the birds flying away from the Wrothgarian Mountains and toward the lowering sun. There was a rising southern breeze coming from the precipice of Glenpoint. “You must treat it with respect.”  
  
The young Countess heard his words. But heeding them she offered still with a hint of lingering possession in her voice “I think it is simply lovely. We have so many ugly things back home. I so want to take her back with me, back to the castle. I promise to take care of it!”  
  
“It would be best to leave her in these surroundings, by the water and away from civilization. This land is our property so there is less chance for creatures such as these to be trodden upon by trespassers. And there is something to be said about frolicking and prancing about the same yard where one has hatched. This fire salamander deserves no less. Besides, when she matures… and she _will_ mature I can assure you, she will represent a mortal danger to the estate if not domesticated.”  
  
“Domesticated?” inquired the young Countess.  
  
“Tamed. To be reduced from a feral state and made meek unto others. To be brought up under the expectations of the people.“  
  
“Oh, you mean like me. I am being domesticated for the people of High Rock. Is that not so?”  
  
He didn’t like the tone from which her statement was delivered. Then again he was insinuating nothing less to the young Countess. She was only now beginning to perceive such veiled imputations from the others. “Well, I would not have put it that way, but we all have a role to play.” Returning to the thought of having a lethal pet reptile brought into the household the Canonreeve attempted to close the discussion. “Moreover, I do not have enough time to house-train such a beast. Which is what she would become if left to her own devices.” He noticed that Erze’s demeanor was shifting from wonder to irritation. On this he sought to change the conversation, knowing that he was not going to convince her. He was cut off by another one of Erze’s questions.  
  
“You mean like you and I growing up at the manor? With the servants?”  
  
“Much like that, yes. You are only now beginning to blossom into what I behold as a proper and upright regent of her _demesne_ , her own dominion. You command the estate of Camlorn. Know that living at the estate is much more than just ordering your servants to fetch you things, however. You are building a reputation with the public, my youngling. Your public. You represent the Breton culture and its legacy. You speak for its people, its history and its future. All of it.  
  
"Your fellow Bretons are not just a part of your kingdom to be ordered about, you must learn the capacity to make them want to help you. To offer themselves to you, to be a part of you. They will also learn to depend on you. You are only now learning to earn their trust and esteem." He paused a moment, straightening the laces of his boots and brushing some of the burrs tangled in her dress. "You will continue to grow and understand the distinctions of respect, affection and above all else a responsibility to your charges… all of these things will lead you down a path of discovery. Over time your own endowments will reveal themselves to you. Consider it a calling to help you manifest your own power.”  
  
There was a look of confusion on the young Countess’ face. “I do not have any power.”  
  
He smiled. “In time you will find that you have more power than most know how to manage. For now, you must trust in your Canonreeve and continue along your quest for personal development under my care,” treading lightly he finished, “now that your parents are gone.”  
  
She was strangely unaffected by Monenck’s remark regarding the death of her parents. Looking into the eyes of the small fire salamander she said, “I just want it to love me. Is that asking for so much? Am I not pretty enough to be loved?”  
  
Monenck once again smiled, but tried to subdue it. He did not want to imply her thoughts were being regarded as immaterial. “Nay, my little waif. You are the very prettiest in all of High Rock, if not all of Arkay’s worshippers. And you will soon grow into a beautiful and refined young woman.”  
  
The young Countess grimaced. “But it does not last. It never does, because everyone grows old. When you get old, your mind... changes. What was once important and playful becomes…” she hawed. The Canonreeve knew she was searching for a proper word for repetitive. “...I suppose routine and uneventful. Like it has all been played out before.  
  
“It seems like the older you get you begin to stop caring. And then people stop noticing you. All Bretons know this to be so, and I am sure it is true for everybody else. How boring! I want to be noticed by everyone! I want to be beautiful _all the time_ and I _will_ find a way to make it so. Just wait and see. I will be young and beautiful forever!”  
  
Monenck replied, “you must also learn how to see inner beauty. For some it is always hidden and never felt.”  
  
To this, Erze snapped, “that is what is said to ugly people to make them feel special. Am I not already special?”  
  
In closing her remarks to the Canonreeve she inadvertently made two fists, shaking them at the skies. “By the Nine Divines, you will hear me! I will be young and beautiful for the rest of my life! Only this will make me happy! And if you cannot grant me this then I shall pray elsewhere and beseech my desires to those that will listen and answer my demand. If I can make my people hear me now, just you wait. Imagine what I can do if I can make _Aedra_ and _Daedra_ alike heed my words!” She stopped her rant short. With a sudden look of awareness she said to the Canonreeve, “is this what you meant by power?”  
  
“Indeed, you are becoming more self-mindful each day. Your awareness grows as you become more and more rational. But you are still neglectful, my child.” He motioned to the salamander, now lifeless, in her clenched fist. There was blood and signs of entrails dripping from between her fingers. “Recall, I also mentioned responsibility. That also comes with the influence you have on others, due to your position.” He decided not to proceed further than this, intending to keep quiet his greater understanding of the impact she has on others that stretch beyond her political and family heritage.  
  
She gazed at the dead salamander. Without a sound she placed it in her pocket and began rubbing her hands together. She was speechless, but only because she did not have any real personal reckoning of her deed. “But I would have trained it all by myself.”  
  
He motioned to the young Countess, gripping her by the shoulders drawing her in. It was an embrace that did not last long and neither truly understood why it was dissolved. “Come, young Erzsêbet. It is time we head towards the castle. I think that is enough growing up for one day.” They started back, hand in hand while avoiding some of the tangling underbrush that was scraping the hem of her soiled dress. “Do not forget the consequences of this day, nor any of my words. You have a great capacity for uncovering mysteries like these and I know how driven you are to discover your own capabilities.” The silhouette of the estate of Camlorn now filled their view, against a setting sun that ceased to offer its warmth. The sounds of the finished afternoon, the scurrying of land critters and the distant caws of bird life returning to roost, were beginning to manifest all about them as they walked. “I believe your persuasions will guide you to greater things, even greater than running the estate." pointing to the castle. "I plan for all of Nirn to take notice.”


	9. Chapter 9

Somewhere in the lifeless, dark and desolate plane of Coldharbor an investigation takes place in a pocket realm where loneliness and solidarity are the only pittance exchanged between _Daedra_ , in an effort to siege the unfortunate sensibilities of mortal men. Platitudes such as hope and desire; neither of which are ever in short supply in this plane of Oblivion but never accorded. The region is bereft of light, forever stalked by gloom and darkness. It is from here the incorporate form of Molag Bal can be observed, occupying the longest shadow of this subdomain in which he reigns. He can be heard musing with one of his Soul Shriven, a once mortal now enslaved and tormented _vestige_ bred for the Lord of Lies. His voice is deep as thunder, with a chill reeking of misery and resentment for his listener as it is for all listeners, “...is she a member of the Glenmoril Wyrd?”  
  
“Nay, Molag Bal.” Using its lips in a pathetic effort to resemble the animated mouth of its former self, its Azure Plasm speaks, “unlike me, my Lord of Lies, her Anuic soul is hers and hers alone. She bears no affiliation with any of our foes within the Coven of Witches.”  
  
“That is good. Our enemies of the Wyrd may one day threaten to impugn our own sovereignty within the boundaries of Cyrodiil, further compelling our vigilance. This information you have provided comes from the Library of Dusk then? Why have I not heard of this ‘Countess Erzsêbet?’”  
  
Making a motion that experts would qualify as trembling, the foul figure responded, “it has not yet reached our librarians, my Lord of Lies. This information is fresh, being extorted at one of our prisons near the Black Garrison region of the Vile Laboratory. Apparently, the information came from a mortal Breton, one of the Countess’ servants under conditions of torture. He was condemned to death for his actions as an accessory to the crimes of which the Countess has been accused. He supposedly acted on behalf of the Countess of High Rock, a high noble in that region of Tamriel.”  
  
“Accessory? Not accomplice?”  
  
The corrupt and distorted servant answered, “it is unclear where such motivations originate, whether it was by her bidding or his own. He had a torturous past, to be certain. Whether his actions took inspiration from her alleged deeds or were entirely his own we cannot be sure. Upon his execution in Tamriel his _Animus_ was diverted here, to appeal to your lust for enslaving all mortal souls of Nirn, my Lord of Lies. Since his _Anuic_ soul is lost forever, such truth will also forever be lost to us.”  
  
“In greater detail, of what deeds is the Countess accused?”  
  
The detestable Soul Shriven summarized for the Daedric prince of enslavement, “besides multiple counts of sadistic torture she is accused of offering comfort and abetting the undead. She is presently being held for the procurement and enslavement of hundreds of girls, mutilating and burning their bodies and bathing in their blood.”  
  
There was a felicitous silence following the servant’s delivery of the mortal charges. “Good. Very good. How did her mortal servant die?”  
  
“It was an exquisite torture, my Lord of Lies. In seeking a confession, the mortal servant was restrained in a cage where one is not permitted to sit or stand. The enclosure is raised above the ground to a height which, upon release, would break the bones of any man after plummeting to the ground. In addition, the flooring of the cage is perforated so that iron spikes on the receiving platform of the chamber would penetrate the soles of his feet upon impact. Eventually his legs, his abdomen… any flesh that would be exposed to such forcible penetration is punctured. This act is repeated until death occurs by exsanguination.”  
  
“And what became of his remains?”  
  
“He became typical fodder, his flesh was stripped and roasted over a fire to be fed to others slightly more fortunate. Permit me, why does all this matter, Lord of Lies?”  
  
The timbre of Molag Bal's voice changed. “It matters to me. I am always curious how men find new and inventive ways for killing one another.” There was a pause. “It pleases me to hear how those of Nirm choose to perform such artistry.  
  
“I am charging you with an investigation, servant. Uncover what you can about the deeds of this Countess. I relish having her _Animus_ here. I wish to refine her essence and dissect her soul.” There was another pause, along with a noticeable drift in what can only be described as a breeze of foul air. Molag Bal finished, “it shall be of the finest delicacy.”  
  
“Understand, Lord of Lies, she could be innocent.” the wicked servant offered at the last.  
  
“Imbecile! I _want_ to believe she has brought this upon herself. I _want_ to believe she has the capacity to do such deeds. Such a creature, if capable of performing these feats upon her own kind… I can only imagine the nectar that courses through her veins, how toothsome and savoury it must be. It is an ambrosia whose availability I want at all times, and _now_ while she still lives.”  
  
In an effort to straighten its back, the disheveled creature spouted, “To the Lord of Lies, thy will shall be done.”  
  
* * *  
  
The power of influence has brought Countess Erzsêbet to this courtroom. Her arrival comes after several practiced measures by _Aedra_ and _Daedra_ alike. She has often addressed such measures with all her powers and signs of lying wonder. Still, with every wicked deception directed against her the thought that her persecutors still refuse to embrace a truth that would bring about her reckoning shall haunt her forever.  
  
The Countess knew this upcoming moment would be her last stand. She has cast all of her arguments before the court, not knowing if it would suffice and whether her case was presented with enough vigor. The legal ramifications were complex. If she were pronounced guilty and executed, her properties and annexes would be ceded to King Emeric and all of Wayrest. All debts would be absorbed. Such niggling would be clumsy and appear obfuscated but had this been pursued further it would have bought more time for her name to be cleared. It would have staved off her abduction and kept her from attending this trial.  
  
For the first time in her life, she began to understand what some of her commoners have demonstrated in the presence of her court: fear and doubt. Such emotions can only be inflected by processes of learning and cognition, so it is natural for feelings like these to be considered rational and appropriate. Thus her presence here (which clearly has brought out elements of fear in the courtroom) can be considered legitimate and necessary as well. She smiled at the level of self-actualization she awarded herself, and applauded this awareness as an adage of further personal development. Her Canonreeve would be proud. Hopefully, he still will be if she speaks to him again. Still, in her present predicament thoughts like these offered additional encouragement.  
  
She fingered the talisman she wore around her neck. As she was deliberating her next course of action, she and the rest of the courtroom were taken by surprise by a scrambling of sounds, and of court representatives, coming from the rear of the chamber. An uninvited guest was parting the way before her by striding purposefully up to the judiciary bench that has been the affixment of so many events on this day.  
  
“Is this Wayrest chivalry?” It was Lady Ulliceta of the Mages Guild. “I speak for the Countess, to foster and support her position as a noble of Camlorn and to induce as much needed equity for this case as I can assemble! Equity that has been denied the defense throughout these proceedings!”  
  
The third judge spoke first, raising his gavel as he shouted. “This interruption is outrageous and disgraces the judiciary proceedings that have been established at the onset of this trial! You-”  
  
The Orsimer interrupted, “Stay your gavel! What is outrageous is the fact that those opportunities presented for the Countess to speak on her own behalf are practically nonexistent! Her welfare and right for a defense shall be granted! In so denying this basic right you, as a people, are placing yourselves beneath the level of the justice you seek to mete. You are propagating a disturbance in the alliance between High Rock, Orsinium and for that matter all allegiances shared between the Mages Guild and its affiliated orders. That disturbance is now being symbolized by me.”  
  
There was a silence from the collective judges as they shifted uncomfortably behind the bench. She began her inquisition. “Has anyone questioned, or even wondered, how a respected noble who comes from a long lineage of successful governance of properties and social alignments, representing the interests of such a long and noted people like the Bretons, would even find the time to commit the crimes of which she is accused?”  
  
The second, and by now widely accepted position of chief judge spoke first. He recognized the Orsimer and addressed her directly, “Lady Ulliceta, she has been accused of having several servants as accessories to these deeds on record. Such testimonies have been collected by King Emeric himself.”  
  
“Where are they now? These servants should be confronted, yes?”  
  
“They are dead. They have already been sentenced and executed for their crimes,” from the first judge. He appeared smug as he said this, once again pushing the spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. “But we have their statements. Furthermore, it is a provision that for all citizens of High Rock the master, or mistress in this case, must be held responsible for the actions of her servants.”  
  
“Then where is King Emeric? I would cross examine him and his testimony!”  
  
“He would have to be summoned to this courthouse, as he is addressing royal business after sending his official representative to the court.” After a small deliberation, the chief judge continued, “as if any of this could be considered admissible or regulated by ordinance. Barging into a court trial is severely unprincipled and does not bode well in establishing the credibility of any claims you might have towards the integrity or correctness of the prosecuted.”  
  
Lady Ulliceta paused after hearing this. “One can argue that the time taken to canvas the countryside, abduct the victim, solicit their admittance onto castle grounds, plan the deed of a bloodletting _and_ implementing it, for multiple victims no less, all the while keeping all of this hidden from the polite society of the estate… I submit the absurdity of such an elaborate act of vile subterfuge. To even conceive of these allegations stretches the boundaries and confinements of rational thought.”  
  
“And yet here we all are, Lady Ulliceta. As licentious and wicked are these deviant behaviorisms, we find that such elaborate planning, given the way you describe them, would not be out of the realm of human determination or behavior. Yes, for hundreds of girls who have met their grisly fate and under the Eight Divines this is considered abhorrent, thus extreme measures invite equally extreme plotting techniques.”  
  
“The likes and planning for which have yet to be truly accounted!” exclaimed the Orsimer.  
  
“Towards atrocities that have not ever been examined in any court of High Rock!” The chief magistrate closed his hands, “this is uncharted territory for all of us, then. We are forced to legislate the proper strategy for penance befitting the crime, applying a proper and suitable sentence.”  
  
She was uncertain if Lady Ulliceta’s testimonial was gaining any traction with the magistrates, although Erzsêbet was very appreciative of her presence. Loyalty has come a long way with the Mages Guild. Again, she touched the talisman she wore around her neck.  
  
Countess Erzsêbet felt the reality closing in on her, felt the grip on her surroundings loosen, begin to slip away. She withdrew to prayer as a means of relieving her apprehension. The day's anxieties were mounting to excess. She continued to stroke the talisman against her throat, channeling her impressions and sentiments as a means of absolving the angst and anxiety of today’s events.  
  
While in meditation she uttered in a language unsuitable for human ears, Breton or otherwise the following:  
  
  
Suddenly the chamber grew very dark and very cold. The sconces that lined the walls of the courtroom were snuffed instantly as if by wind, granting the weak outdoor glow of dusk entry to the hall as the only source of illumination. From nowhere appeared three darkly garbed figures wearing mantles less suitable for the High Rock climate. The onset was sudden and supernatural, fostering a collective gasp and cries of surprise from the court spectators. Their sudden emergence caught the entire courtroom flat footed as no sound preceded their arrival and the circumstances under which they arrived were extraordinary to say the least, teleportation being left unseen by most commoners. Their gestures were strikingly subtle, often synchronized and deathly silent. They positioned themselves near Lady Ulliceta, surrounding her.  
  
In an instant, all three judges were on their feet in an effort to fight or flee. The two constables with their outstretched halberds immediately pounced on the court intruders, but their actions and lives were cut short as the lead interloper, in making a fist, compressed the skulls of the guards with a sickening crunch and a vicious outpouring of blood bursting from the stumps where their heads once rested. They both fell forward, collapsing to the floor, their brains and eyeballs rolling out of their heads in a heap of marrow and gore.  
  
The courthouse erupted into a screaming turmoil. The remaining two intruders spun swiftly to view the court audience, whose members were clambering for the rear exit in a panic. One of the dark intruders motioned with his hands. The heavy wooden door was then unbarred and flung open, permitting the escape of the terrified and frenzied witnesses of the court.  
  
It was now that the Countess recognized her liberators. According to the crests they wore they were members of the Montalian Clan. She was aware of their special abilities as vampires, but those bred in the Montalion family possess several unique properties, not the least of which was sudden transportation. But how they were made aware of her location, occupying a courtroom of law, one specific to the High Rock territories was beyond her understanding. Perhaps her prayers had been answered after all?  
  
The lead clan member approached the horrified magistrates, two of which were clinging to themselves in fear. Not so the central judge who looked down upon the vampire and said simply without even considering the issuance of another speech for the day, “get out!”  
  
With a gaze fixed upon the chief magistrate the vampire motioned for his brethren to position themselves behind the bench. Tracing their steps he soon followed. The judges became more and more passive, with a steady and receding level of resistance. The three judges soon withdrew, their demeanor shifting to calmness. Each took to their seats. Odd, but it was clear the energy of their movements had been surrendered. Each vampire, in unison, stepped behind the judges laying their hands lightly on each of them and muttered almost imperceptibly, although perceived by Countess Erzsêbet, “ _sruo si lliw ruoy._ ”  
  
As swiftly as they came they stepped down from the raised dais of the judge’s platform and filed toward the center aisle of the chamber. Preparing to leave the now abandoned courtroom, the last of the vampires turned to the Countess. She looked into his red eyes which were expressionless. If she could have seen her own she would have witnessed how genuine and telling they were in communicating both her bewilderment and her gratitude. At once it became a moment they shared and she reveled in it. She did not notice the rising of the vampire’s hand or his fingertips as they draped across her forehead and lightly brushed her brow. Nor did she hear these words, “not all truths will be revealed this day.”  
  
* * *  
  
All appeared normal to Countess Erzsêbet. She ignored the quietness of the courtroom, but watched the judges as they remained pompous in preparing a verdict. Still they were perched upon their sanctimonious thrones. Meanwhile, the restless commoners remained in their seats, when in actuality they had merely returned. The agents of the court were still apparently occupied with their clerical duties as they had been throughout the trial, although she noticed that two of the guards had been replaced. Some of the torches had indeed been replaced and relit. They must have burned themselves to the stump she surmised. Also, Lady Ulliceta was nowhere to be found. Dismissing the idiosyncrasies of her observations she stood ready as she received her verdict.  
  
“The court magistrate before you has confirmed that the proper course of action has been taken. Under the preeminence granted to this tribunal by King Emeric and his authority of Wayrest we find you _guilty_ of all charges. All of Glenumbra shall be privy to your sentence once King Emeric and his court hands are properly notified. In vetting justice, it becomes a challenge in considering the ramifications of imposing the death sentence on such a noted political figure as yourself while collectively asking what benefits should become the treasury of Wayrest and Camlorn in this instance should such sentencing be forged any other way.  
  
“Because of your high station we cannot convict you to death without confirmation that extends beyond the authority granted by the Daggerfall Covenant. Any personal interrogation is also out of reach because of the predicament in humiliating a high noble, under torture no less. Such a precedent would be deemed inadmissible and cannot be set under the same said authority. Therefore, we hereby condemn you to _exile_ , former Lady of Camlorn, to never return to its estate, to Wayrest, High Rock... nay the entire region of Glenumbra shall be forbidden to you from your ever entering again. You are stripped of all your heraldry and benefits awarded to you under your former position.”  
  
“You,” summarized the chief judge, “are like a wild animal. You do not deserve to breathe the air on Nirn or see the light of Arkay. You shall disappear from this land and shall never reappear in it again.” Looking at each side to his fellow magistrates, and with finality said these final words: “As the cloak of _Daedra_ shadows the land and will eventually envelope you, may you find time to repent your bestial life to Akatosh.”  
  
The chief magistrate of High Rock brought his gavel down. It made a sound that will continue to reverberate in the recesses of Countess Erzsêbet’s _animus_ , the acuity of her persuasions and her beliefs now compromised forever.


	10. Chapter 10

Erzsêbet was permitted once more to return to her estate to gather any personal affections that would sustain her for the rest of her changed life. It was unfortunate the Canonreeve could not be found at the castle. Her final order was to canvas the countryside for his whereabouts, alas, after several hours any information each scout returned was hollow. She so wanted to extend her final farewells to him. However, she did have the luxury of spending some quality time with her handmaiden, Chaneliene. Her delicate features and meek, unassuming smile… she had forgotten how much her presence and her company made her feel complete. The Countess now realized that much of her upbringing was in no small part attributed to the attention she received from her most faithful servant.

She was still. In an alien tongue, Erzsêbet said aloud but to herself, _“a fenébe mindet. Látni fogom, hogy erre égnek.”_

Chaneliene was beside herself with grief. They shared the settee occupying the private chamber of the Countess. She was wistful and could not take her eyes off of Erzsêbet, who seemed strangely resilient given her recent persecution. She did not care if her affections were on display for the Countess to finally see. She knew that being this close to her again would be an impossibility. 

“Stop your pouting, child. It is quite all right. Moments like these will also come for you, when one’s eyes are fully opened. Pried forcibly perhaps, but in the end they will be. Accept this as a value added as these moments offer a... lucidness exposing them for what they truly are. Sometimes the path plummets from a mighty cliff before a new path can be spread. The way I have entered our world is no different, simply a reckoning of pain and angst. One of misunderstanding and prejudice... but even this slowly becomes a part of you. 

“Today only sustains my resolve; I am strengthened by today's attitude. A world that cares for nothing. Each of its people: Breton, Argonian, Bosmer, Orsimer and all the rest, care not for one another. They simply meander until their paths come to their meager ends. 

The Countess outstretched her hand to her former servant, who was now elated by the gesture, both seeing this as their one and final opportunity for closeness. “For they only see the crag from which they have fallen. They are positively frightened by it and where they now stand. They refuse tomorrow, and repeatedly. A day that would hold promise for so many; a covenant if you will and I do not mean the one that has served to strip our citizens of their identity. If only my fellow Bretons were brave enough, wise enough to reach for it.” She sighed. “I shall not toil any further on this. Arkay says it well: _Guard and tend the bounties of the mortal world._ Very well then, I have pushed this rock up the hillside as far as it will go for my people.

Realizing her time was slipping away she reached for a sealed envelope she had tucked away and handed it to Chaneliene. "Please give this to the Canonreeve," she said. "It explains much." The countess straightened herself. “In spite of today’s events, I will persevere and start anew. A new beginning. Does this not mark a change of mindset or identity? Am I not more learned? Indeed, will my influence on Tamriel not continue? Can I not refute my deeds? By the great Divines, and those of _Daedra_ alike, I have certainly tried. I will start again with a renewed promise so lacking in my fellow Bretons. Does my rebirth include absolution of my transgressions? To be repeated perhaps? Or embraced even? These are questions left to those who have nothing left to decide.” The eyes of the Countess widened and appeared to glow.

Chaneliene broke the widening silence, “I must insist, my lady, that there are still those in the estate and throughout the region who look upon you and your legacy with great respect.”

“Oh yes, my dear. I understand that. Whether it is my intimidating beauty, my deeds or my nobility that casts me forever into my new purgatory realm, I simply ask to never be distanced by those whom I become ever closer. No longer. _Nem lehet egyszerűen szeretni?_ Can I not simply be loved?

Erzsêbet began primming her bodice and gathered herself. “I require order in everything. Oh, I may have tendencies for whimsy, optimism and at times even joy, although these leanings may be perceived as perverse by some.” She chuckled. “But I am a religious sort, dignified, generous and self-contented. I can be indecisive even, I admit this. Emotional, impatient, unpredictable, shall I go on?” She laughed a bit, which filled Chaneliene with mirth. “But I am loyal and responsible. Am I above the Covenant, then?” She stared at the opposite wall. “Apparently, not.” She then stood on her feet, grooming herself further. She looked about one last time at her furnishings and prepared to finalize her departure. “I think I will approach the Psijics!” she said with half-indifference. ”They always seem to know what to do next, ha!

“Remember dear, there are always those who seek understanding, and you my child will be the first. In any event do not lament for me, sweet Chaneliene. Instead lament for those who lack the will or willingness to succumb to order. Order and supremacy.” She averted her gaze, “remember, there are still many among us who _want_ to be told what to do, who want to be dominated.”

Chaneliene risked turning her head to gaze longingly at the countenance of Erzsêbet as she hovered over her. She wanted so much to be a part of her and her next station in life. Erzsêbet noticed this and seated herself next to Chaneliene once again. There was a pause. She began to affectionately touch Chaneliene’s face, caressing it. She brought her face close to hers until they were touching. The once-servant kissed her face, brushing her lips against hers, sharing her breath. They prolonged the moment and its sentimental significance ignoring any consequences, for what were they? There could be no aftermath or dishonor between stations that no longer exist. 

Afterwards, Chaneliene let out a sigh, relishing the intimacy of it and cherishing the feeling. Then Erzsêbet’s expression changed unexpectedly. "Do not fret over the girls too much. They are dead. They will have their moment with Akatosh. He is renowned for embracing the _animus_ of the truly desperate. And as for my relationship with the undead, well… that will always be my business." She shifted herself and said wryly, "forgive my prattling my little darling, I cannot help myself.” She offered her final words to Chaneliene, “The girls... I am imagining the look on their faces once they realize who was responsible for their torture."

**THE END**


End file.
